Wu Junji had grown more distinct since birth, and looking at his face, no one dared say he was not Emperor Zhou’s son.
The Empress Dowager, the Retired Emperor, and the imperial physicians could all attest to the time of Wu Junji’s birth.
Wu Junji’s status as the eldest son was indisputable.
The military officials in the court, led by Chen Yang, all supported the eldest prince as the Crown Prince.
With the ancestral teachings of the founding emperor and the examples of three generations of wise rulers, anyone who wanted to say something ultimately fell silent.
Fine, let’s wait and see during the General Appointing at age three…
If the results are unsatisfactory, Wu Junji’s position as Crown Prince will be unstable. After all, it’s only these two years—why insist on opposing His Majesty?
During the Crown Prince investiture ceremony, Emperor Zhou personally held Wu Junji while the Retired Emperor draped him in a four-clawed black dragon robe, accepting the homage of all the officials.
Wu Junji watched the scene excitedly—I am the Crown Prince!
Emperor Zhou held him and whispered very softly into his right ear:
“If you show no promise by age three, I will depose you.”
The little Crown Prince scratched his ear, thinking the old man was seriously ill, trying to judge his future at just three years old.
I am already the Crown Prince.
If you dare depose me, I’ll poison you.
After the Crown Prince investiture ceremony concluded, Wu Junji was already one year old.
The System from back then was like a flash in the pan—its voice was never heard again.
Wu Junji tried hard to eat and eat, thinking he could escape the constitutionally deficient body of his previous life, but reality proved him wrong.
No matter how much he supplemented, he could never match Wu Junzheng’s physique.
The two months less in the womb were like an unbridgeable chasm, defining their identities and extinguishing any possibility for Wu Junji to practice martial arts.
In the blink of an eye, a year passed, and Wu Junji turned two. He woke up once again on the oversized dragon bed.
The entire canopy bed was carved from rosewood, its auspicious patterns understated yet luxurious. The bedding carried the faint fragrance of the wood, and after sleeping on it for so long, he felt he had become a human-shaped piece of rosewood himself.
Hugging the quilt, he rolled around on the bed, turning over once before pulling open the bed curtains to reveal a small head.
The eunuch waiting by the bedside smiled warmly at him:
“Has Your Highness the Crown Prince awakened?”
The maids on either side drew back the curtains, and the little Crown Prince sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes and mumbling:
“Awake.”
Nanny Wang moistened a cloth to refresh him:
“Which outfit would Your Highness like to wear today?”
The little Crown Prince sighed: “Wear the one Father Emperor chose.”
Nanny Wang’s smile widened: “Your Highness is filial. When His Majesty returns from court, he will surely be delighted.”
A moment later, the Crown Prince, dressed like a little tiger, looked at himself in the mirror.
The old man had gone mad lately, always wanting him to wear animal-themed clothes—a frog today, a puppy tomorrow, a rabbit the day after, and a rooster the day after that.
This wasn’t some bullshit paternal love or a sign of deep affection—it was the most direct reflection of how he viewed him in his heart.
Emperor Zhou, a tyrant warm on the outside but cold within, capable of turning on you without mercy.
When he treats you like a toy, he truly sees you as a toy.
You’d better not let this teasing closeness blind you into thinking you’re special.
Wu Junji believed that any emotion was a byproduct of intense tug-of-war and tactical maneuvering between two people, a hallucination induced by dopamine in the brain.
Now, he and Emperor Zhou were engaged in tactical maneuvering and intense tug-of-war. Whether this could stimulate dopamine to produce that illusory byproduct remained to be seen.
Wu Junji had a clear understanding of himself: he couldn’t endure hardship, was driven by greed and ambition, and craved power intensely. As for the idea of being emotionally scarred in his previous life, physically and mentally exhausted, and wanting to slack off and rely on others after being reborn—that didn’t exist.
What he wanted was for the name Wu Junji to be recorded in the official history of the Great Zhou, in the imperial annals, and when he died, to be described as having “ascended to the heavens”!
Thus, he needed the emperor’s affection as a support to face the future palace intrigues and court struggles for succession.
Emperor Zhou, with his eccentric personality, prone to fits of madness at any moment, was a tyrant who failed in both thought and virtue. Gaining even a small place in such a man’s heart was no easy task.
Fortunately, he was only two years old, and there was still plenty of time.
Starting small to achieve greater goals, the first step was to change Emperor Zhou’s habitual way of addressing him.
He had had enough of being called “little troublemaker.”
Emperor Zhou kept calling him “little troublemaker,” and the servants in Taiji Palace would think of “little troublemaker” whenever they saw Wu Junji.
His attitude determined the servants’ attitude, and Wu Junji, having noticed this problem, decided to take action.
Every time the other called him “little troublemaker,” he would remain silent and unresponsive.
This only made Emperor Zhou call him “little troublemaker” even more enthusiastically. He even went so far as to make animal costumes, clearly harboring malicious intent to tease him.
After thinking for a long time, Wu Junji decided to fight fire with fire. Whenever the other called him “little troublemaker,” he would call him “old geezer.”
“Little troublemaker” versus “old geezer.”
Father and son spent their days hurling insults at each other.
Just like the dozens or even hundreds of times they had stubbornly clashed over the issue of thumb-sucking.
This time, the standoff lasted half a month.
Wu Junji was fine with it, but Emperor Zhou was growing increasingly impatient in recent days. So, Wu Junji decided to yield appropriately and put on the tiger costume.
The little Crown Prince moved a small stool to the entrance of Taiji Palace, sat down, pricked up his ears to listen to the wind and birdsong, breathed in the fresh air, until the scent of sandalwood on him gradually faded, and scattered footsteps could be heard at the door.
Wu Junji stood up on his short little legs and ran over to greet him.
“Imperial Father!”
Since Wu Junji had entered the palace, Emperor Zhou had kept him by his side, personally raising and educating him.
The child changed day by day.
He stopped drooling, learned to sit, to crawl, to speak, to walk, and also to throw tantrums.
Emperor Zhou deeply regretted not having corrected the boy’s stubborn nature earlier.
Now, this “little troublemaker,” who wasn’t even as tall as his sword, was constantly defying him.
He refused to wear the clothes he was told to wear.
He refused to call him “Imperial Father” when told to.
He wouldn’t listen when books were read to him.
He wouldn’t eat when fed.
What a little rascal!
Today, Emperor Zhou had faced a barrage of criticism in court, his anger with no outlet. Before even stepping into Taiji Palace, he had already decided what to smash, determined to show the “little troublemaker” his imperial might.
But instead, a little tiger came rushing toward him, growling “Imperial Father.”
His two short legs, bundled in thick clothing, were practically invisible.
Waddling over with a biaji biaji sound, half of the anger in his heart melted away on the spot.
Emperor Zhou bent down, tucked the little tiger under his arm, and gave his bottom a couple of smacks.
“Weren’t you calling me ‘old geezer’? Why aren’t you calling me that today?”
“Weren’t you refusing to wear it? Why are you wearing it today?”
Wu Junji hung limply like a kitten on a pole, folded in half. He wasn’t foolish—pushing boundaries was a skill, but crossing them would be asking for trouble.
“It’s because you always call me ‘little troublemaker.'”
Emperor Zhou carried him all the way into the palace, still bickering.
“I am the emperor! I can call you whatever I want!”
“What’s wrong with ‘little troublemaker’! The troublemaker I fathered is different from any other troublemaker!”
Wu Junji argued back, “What’s wrong with ‘old geezer,’ then? The ‘old geezer’ from the Crown Prince’s mouth is different from the ‘old geezer’ from anyone else’s mouth!”
Emperor Zhou couldn’t understand why he was so fixated on a mere form of address.
Emperor Zhou sat cross-legged on the carpet, tugged at the tiger tail on his son’s costume, knocked him over, and slipped his cold hands into the boy’s clothes, warming them against his son’s hot belly—
Clearly using him as a hand warmer.
Late autumn, nearing winter, Wu Junji, who was naturally averse to the cold, struggled fiercely to pull back, angrily cursing,
“Old man!”
Wu Junji blamed his perpetually poor health on the old man.
What normal person uses their own son as a hand warmer?
Didn’t he know that children could get diarrhea?
When he was just one year old, the man had him gnaw on venison and steamed buns.
By the time he was nearly one and a half, Emperor Zhou added wine to his soup.
Now, at two years old, Emperor Zhou chased after him, trying to feed him ginseng soup.
As if afraid he wouldn’t die from it.
From just the first two incidents, Wu Junji realized that this old man was eccentric and unpredictable. Raising him might simply be a matter of treating him as an amusing personal possession.
His own things—even if they rotted, died, or became useless—had to be dealt with by his own hand.
If he liked something, he would elevate it to the highest status; if he didn’t, he would suppress it immediately.
Making him the Crown Prince might have been nothing more than a momentary whim, a lapse in judgment.